Movie Night
by Stripedsplashing
Summary: In which Scott goes on a Not-a-Date (but it's totally a date) with Jackson.


**Movie Night**

**pairing: **JacksonxScott

"This is totally a date." Stiles said.

Scott frown at him in the mirror. "It's not a date." Scott muttered, pulling on a different shirt. "Jackson just needs someone to hang out with. He's fed up with therapy, the pack is ignoring him, and Lydia dumped him out of nowhere. The guy needs a friend, Stiles."

"I think you care too much. Jackson treated her like crap," Stiles said.

Scott shrugged, stepping out of the shadows in the outfit he had chosen. "What do you think? These jeans or the other ones?"

Stiles sat straight up. "_Those. _You should-oh my _god. Yes._ He will jump you in those. _I _would ."

"What? Stiles! I don't want Jackson to "jump me"! It's _not a date._"

Stiles shrugged, dropping back onto the bed. "Whatever you say, buddy. Just don't say I didn't warn you when he opens your door and tries to order for you."

"_Stiles._"

Stiles knew that tone. That was t_his-is-already-bad-and-you're-making-it-worse_ mixed with _shut-up-or-i'll-wolf-out-and-eat-you_. He surrendered. "Okay, fine. But be careful."

"I will. " Scott looked himself up and down, messed with his hair a little, and tried not to be nervous by pretending he wasn't. He took a deep breath. "I guess I'm as ready as I'm going to get."

"For what?" Stiles said. "I thought it _wasn't a date_."

"It _isn't a date. _I'm worried cause it's a whole evening alone with Jackson Whittemore."

"Sounds like a date to me."

"Shut up."

Stiles glanced up from his computer, then back down. Then up again.

With the lamp behind him, Scott looked like he was glowing. His skin looked warm, his hair was just a tiny bit wavy. His shirt was midnight blue, looked painted on to his body, and his jeans were fitting so well Stiles had to shove back temptation. He looked...touchable.

Stiles suddenly realized he wasn't looking at his same goofy Scott from last year. This Scott was stronger than he'd been before, wiser too. And he looked so good he wasn't fair. This Scott was heading out on a date with Jackson Whittemore. Jackson _Just-Escaped-from-Being-a-Mythical-Weapon-of-Vengeance-and-I'm-Still-Hot-and-Rich-Cause God-Loves-Me-More-Than-You_ _Whittemore._

It was going to take some getting used to.

"I don't think you're going to need it." he said, just as Melissa knocked on the door.

"Scott?" she said, poking her head around the corner. "Your '_not-a-date' _is here. He looks nervous. I'd get down there before he panics."

Scott nodded. "Bye you two. See you later!" and before he could second guess himself, he was down the stairs and looking at Jackson, and all of a sudden his mouth was dry. "Hey Jackson."

Jackson frowned and shoved a tiny gift box at him. "What took so long? Get in the car."

Scott smiled at his back.

"…so." Scott said. His hands are in his pockets, and he's looking at his shoes. It's cold out, and he can see his breath in the air.

"That movie sucked." Jackson finished. Scott smiles, and huffs a laugh. He wants to look up at the way he knows Jackson's eyebrows are doing that scrunched up thing, and he can feel Jackson's eyes (they feel like a heat seeking radar, tracking him, setting him in their sights) flick down to catch sight of his dimples. He feels warm inside all of a sudden, and looks up on impulse. Jackson is staring at him.

He doesn't look away.

"Do you…want to go somewhere?" he doesn't know why he said that (maybe it's the way Jackson bit his lip, just to watch his eyes jump down), but when Jackson smiles slowly and never looks away, and says "Yeah. Wherever you want." He's really glad he did.

To be honest, they don't make it anywhere specific. Scott is looking out the window of Jackson's Porsche, tapping his thigh and feeling a little more nervous every second. Is he really about to do this? This is _Jackson. _He's known to change his mind in the morning. Then there's the whole recovering-Kanima thing, which Jackson's freckles have pretty much convinced him he doesn't care about.

He's in the middle of thinking _what am I _doing_? _and _when did _freckles_ start playing a role in my decision-making? _When Jackson whips onto a side road, and rips the keys out of the ignition. Scott has barely had time to turn around, when suddenly he's in the middle of the best kiss of his life.

He's halfway in a state of disbelief, but the kiss is so hungry, so insistent, so perfect and _so damn good, _he can't convince himself to pull away. To think rationally. To feed himself that whole "it's not a date" line.

Who's he trying to kid? He wants Jackson, and as he feels his back pressing against the window, tilts his head to find a better angle of attack, _moans _into Jackson's mouth—he doesn't truthfully see any point in denying it.

* * *

_**the writer has elected to leave this scene to the reader's imagination, as she sucks at writing smut. It might get filled in later but don't hold your breath**_

* * *

When Jackson says goodnight, it's not in a tone of voice Scott's ever heard before. It's soft and gentle, with a tinge of hope to it. He says "I'll see you later."

And Scott says "I'll call you," and smiles, because he can't help it right now.

Jackson smiles back.

Scott walks to his front door in a daze. He feels calm and suspended above everything, full of warmth and the sound of Jackson's voice. He quietly slips into his room, leaning against the door. All he wants to do is fall into bed, surrounded by Jackson's scent on the jacket that got wrapped around him at some point. He doesn't want this dream-spell-wish-like state to end.

"So," said Stiles, from the corner, looking up from his laptop. "Still not a date?"

Scott smiled softly. "No, it was definitely a date." He was still smiling as he slipped into sleep, the spell unbroken.


End file.
